secular salvation
by easy love
Summary: A conservative church girl, and a rebel who knows no God—to which they find, in each other, they can be at home. Elsa/Jack. Jelsa.


_secular salvation_

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**Summary: **A conservative church girl, and a rebel who knows no God—to which they find, in each other, they can be at home. Elsa/Jack. Jelsa.

**Prompt: **Sort of like A Walk to Remember, but not. And you know that song Girls by The 1975 – the one that goes, _I know you're looking for salvation in the secular age, but girl I'm not your saviour_—yeah that one. I also once attempted a chapter of an old fanfiction for _Austin and Ally_ with a similar idea. I deleted the fanfiction.

**A/N: **This A/N here is usually written before I start a fanfiction. And the A/N below is written after I've written the fanfiction. You'll see the difference in my expectation, and then the outcome, hahaha. So, I'm just going to hope that I write a long-ish one-shot focusing on Jelsa, and a taste of faith.

**Disclaimer: **Don't own anything at all :)

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**une****; meeting**

Daddy always told her, _be the good girl you always have to be—and be happy doing it_. So it kind of stuck, for the next seventeen years of her life.

She believes in having faith, believing in God, and all the Catholic values the bible presented – no matter how contradictory it may all have seemed. Because when you're lost and you have nowhere else to go, _God will lead you back home_—much like _The Prodigal Son_.

So when she meets the uncouth and faithless Jackson Overland, the first thing she does is kneel down before the altar, and _pray_ for him. Because he needed it—despite those reprimanding glares he sent her way that said _no, don't bullshit with me_.

"This is Jackson Overland."

The head priest announces, one church group meeting. He stood with a ragged looking boy whose hair was a mix of snow white, and dirty brown.

"It's Jack Frost."

Snickers wafted the air like silent whispers in secrecy, and she frowned in his display of disrespect.

"He will be our new Knight."

"Knight of _fucking_ what?"

"Knight of the altar,"

Elsa shakes her head, disapproving of his coarse language, and blatant disregard for all the pictures of saints and Jesus that surrounded him. _How rude_, she would think to herself.

"Welcome to the family, Jackson."

The head church girl, Rapunzel Iverness stands and smiles politely, her golden locks beamed under the dusty sunrays. She tucks fallen strands of her behind her ear – a sign that she is shy, and sort of into this guy – whilst she extends her hand in a warm greeting.

He doesn't answer. Instead, he turns away and slams shut the door on his way out. Rapunzel stands rejected and embarrassed, the priest is unforgivingly furious. Elsa, however, is disappointed.

But the day doesn't end on them in bad terms. Perhaps, if she hadn't caught him wasting his life away with a full packet of cigarettes, things would've turned out differently for the ballad of Jack and Elsa.

"You're supposed to be inside."

She plays with her blonde braid, a mess at the side of her neck, and small bangs framing her face. He's leaning against the church gates, steady breaths of nicotine smoke coming out in puffs as he plays with the stick in his hand. There's sadness in the cold air, and drops of water that sticks to their very skin. The rain, it would seem, knew very well of pathetic fallacy.

"I don't care."

He taps the stick, ashes falling to the wet ground of autumn leaves and fertile soil. She fully welcomes herself outside and the gates close behind her. She pays no mind to it, settling herself beside him and the stoned wall with the vines and the thorns.

"You could at least try, you know? There must be a reason the father brought you here, and why he hasn't given up on you yet – despite your undeniably rude attitude."

"I don't need some _know-it-all church girl_ to preach to me about my _attitude_."

"That's not what I'm trying to do."

"It damn well sounds like it."

"Then you heard me wrong."

He turns to her, a little surprised, and slightly amused – because no one's ever talked to him that way before. And for the first time, he's never seen something so beautiful in all his life. There's something endearing in the way the salty rain taints her blushing cheeks, and how dews of water adorned her hair. It's so breathtaking he almost forgot—_he's not meant to fall in love_.

"I don't know what your deal is, but I don't believe in God."

"You don't?"

"No."

It's silent and she whistles to the wind. He still stares, but he's wondering. What she's thinking—what she _thinks_ of him. Maybe he shouldn't have said it but – if he were to be attracted to someone, he'd like it to be with a person who can accept his values.

"So many people don't either. And that's okay."

"Oh really?"

"I guess God is not for everyone."

She smiles at him, one that just pulls a little at his heart, and makes his stomach feel like fluttering. Her hair looks _so blonde_, and her smile looked so real. It's something different from everything he's known all his life – because toothy grins of dirt covered children beggared for sympathy—and she doesn't.

So when she gets behind the church doors, he lingers for a while, staring at the dead sky and the silver moon. His eyes start to water and he can't tell whether it's the rain, or his tears that are dying to cry out. But before he can decide, the church bell rings and calls for him, and he goes inside with the back of his hand a wipe against his eyelids, and the moon glowing brighter than ever – as if to _say something_.

Inside, he is handed a towel—that same blonde girl who he refused to acknowledge earlier on bats her eyelids at him as if to look cute. He gives a small shrug and walks pass her like a ghost, not giving a damn whether or not he could hurt her feelings – and _he did_.

Elsa watches from the other side of the room, a candle in hand to light the darkness the storm has brought. With traces of orange flames and dancing shadows, she can see Rapunzel turning away and running from him – clearly devastated to be brushed off the second time around. She would do something but—Jackson Overland was a boy she'd rather not associate herself with, nor was Rapunzel a _dear friend_ of hers.

She turns her focus back to the book she was reading – some unfamiliar cliché story about a girl falling in love in the summer – and waits for the wax on the candle to drop onto the words scrolled across the page. She can't bring herself to know what is going on – all she sees are blurred lines and the wavering flame she holds. She doesn't know why but somehow, she has become very involved with thoughts of Jackson Overland.

"You'll burn that book if you doze off too much."

A voice snaps her out and she turns to face a tall figure with wide eyes and an open mouth. They did say, _speak of the devil and the devil shall come_.

"And close your mouth; you might catch flies in there."

Jackson sits himself down beside her, brown cloak clinging to his thin figure, and brushing against Elsa's pale skin. He cozies himself on the spot, and reads the page she's completely forgotten about, a hand used to tilt the candle away from the book.

"Why not?"

She suddenly asks the darkness, and the silence. She thinks he won't understand but, he's been asked that same question so many times in so many ways that—_he gets it_.

"I don't think he's there, you know? This _God_ that I don't believe in, I think he's a placebo. People need someone, _something_—you know, to keep them going and believing that living isn't pointless. That there's this greater being out there that's supposed to reward us, and punish us for living a certain way. Him; I don't believe in him. He's not real."

It takes her a minute to truly understand his reason – because the way he says these things, and how he speaks—as if every word that comes out of his mouth will melt at her very hands. He sounds fragile and broken—_and he looks it too_—but she sees something wonderful in his eyes. It's like the sadness that wraps around those living under the city lights, and hides behind the shadows of alleyways and trashcans.

"Are you a city boy?"

The question takes him by surprise, but he nods and answers anyway.

"Yeah."

She sets her book down, and turns to focus on the flame that burns between them. The rest of the world fell into the darkness of that blackout, but the two stayed secure under that symbolic light—the warmth of that fire that somehow acted as their salvation for the night.

"I love the city."

"Really?"

"It's a beautiful place filled with so many wonderful things."

"Oh yeah? Like what?"

"The skyscrapers, those neon lights, and billboards with people who look so perfect—it's like hell on earth."

He doesn't get it, so he stays silent and waits for her to continue on. He doesn't even know if there's something more, or if that's just it.

"It reminds me that the world is not perfect – but it can strive to be. We all hide in façades of not caring and being content but we're not. That's why we continually find ways to hide our flaws and prettify the ugly—_like the ci_ty. Of all it's glorious bright lights and dreams of making it somewhere, hides the poverty of the world and the loud shouts of noise and air pollution."

"I don't understand what's to love about that."

"When you live in the city, you fall into a routine and somehow everything you do is_ normal_. But when you're looking at it through a lens, like I am – you see something extraordinary in the life you're living. Because to be able to do such simple things, in a dreadful place like the city – that's really lucky."

He laughs, a genuine chortle that chokes him, much like that ghostly smoke from those cancer sticks.

"Wha—what?"

She stutters.

"You're a little bit of a cynic, aren't you?"

"There's nothing cynical about anything I said!"

She gives him a small shove on the shoulder, and jerks the candle away from his hold. The wax drops to the floor and hardens as quick as it fell. He laughs even louder.

"Did you hear your whole monologue? It's like you have this dark perspective of life that just makes the good sound bad."

"But I'm just telling the truth."

"That doesn't mean the truth can't be cynical."

She's stubborn so she huffs at him and turns to face the other way. But she can't deny it—there's something tugging at her lips to smile. Because she feels like her heart has floated and his laugh is the most beautiful thing she has ever heard.

**deux; mass**

The _Lilies of the Altar_ were dancers who wore white and laid out the priest's table. They ballet themselves towards the altar, draping silk cloths on it and white napkins, and beautiful white flowers. They wore white, and _only_ white. The _Knights of the Altar_ were boys who wore white and red, or purple – whichever color of stole the priest decided to wear that day – and escorted the priest to the altar, carrying crosses and the thurible.

They were duties done voluntarily – but not for Jackson Overland. None of the things he's doing right now is voluntary, in respect, at all.

"This fucking costume is ridiculous."

"You look rather dashing in a Knight's uniform."

"I don't see how _Knightly_ this get up actually is."

"Church girls would fawn over you the minute you get out of this dressing room."

"Church girls are weird – like you."

Elsa and Jackson have settled themselves in a cramped closet – Elsa forced to help Jackson to fix up his uniform for the upcoming mass.

"I hope you know, you are _dearly_ wasting my precious time."

"I don't trust anyone with my body."

She slaps him playfully on the arm, and laughs. Picking up his old clothes from the ground, she throws them to his face which causes his eye to twitch a little in annoyance.

"You're adorable in this get up."

With one more graceful snicker, she gets out of the closet and closes the door softly. He's left pouting after her, before turning to face the mirror. There's something different about him – something more lively, and chubbier. And he can't tell whether to like it or not.

Fixing the red cloak and straightening his white collar, he sighs loudly to himself. Taking the cross that stood slanted against the other side of the closet, he makes his way out. And he sees her – standing there, waiting for him—her and her braided blonde hair and bored blue eyes.

"What took you so long?"

He's startled when she suddenly speaks, an impatient undertone lying somewhere between the softness of her voice, and the careful way she looks at him.

"Just thinking."

"About what?"

"How hypocritical this all is."

"Really? How so?"

"For a religion that claims to have their _God_ save them and free them, there sure are a lot of rules that bound you believers—and even me, a non-believer—to follow and live a certain way that contradicts the very definition of freedom."

"I—"

"I mean, think about it. You all say that God will love you, no matter what choices you make in life – you will be forgiven. How about me, who doesn't give a fuck about him? If _he _really did love me, I shouldn't be forced to work for him, to find _salvation_."

"That is correct."

"See! That's why—"

"But, ah—you don't owe anything to God."

"What?"

"It's to Father North you do."

"Well, if he's such a good priest, he shouldn't be asking anything back from me."

"But he's not."

"Then what are you trying to say?"

"You're indebted to him. And as human, believing in God or not, you at least feel like you should give him something back—for the food, the home, and this taking care of he has offered you. Whether you believe in God or not, you're still a human—that means you're not heartless, and that you have pride. And I know you haven't left yet, not because you like living here or because you're being forced to work as a Knight, but because you feel obligated to pay him back. And that's okay. You don't have to pretend to be this cynical atheist all the time."

"Because you can see right through me?"

"Yes. Because I can see right through you."

He runs his hand through his dyed white hair, and laughs sheepishly. But there's bitterness in the air, and something a little like resent—but he knows she knows this is exactly what he's feeling right now.

"Let's go."

She calls, and he's snapped back to reality as he looks at her extended hand. He takes it, and they walk to the entrance doors together.

Elsa tugs at her white sleeves, shaped like angel's wings that fold down to her elbow. Taking a hand, she dips it into the holy water, and blesses herself, before preparing for stance. And when the music plays, the priest and all the other knights come up behind him, and she dances her way across the aisle, to the altar.

Along the way she meets other Lilies, holding white cloths and flowers, and from one of them she takes the red stole and folds it neatly on top of the altar. She's still dancing, graceful gestures with her hands, and her toes taking small synchronized steps. And all eyes were on her – specially those piercing blue eyes that are left in a trance with the way her body moves. His mouth is wide open and he feels himself just choking a little on his heart caught on his throat.

"She's the best dancer in here, boy. A beautiful lily."

The priest whispers, and he feels shivers. But he shakes his head and glares at Father North who laughed lightheartedly.

"Elsa's the daughter of one previous Knight. He was a lovely gentleman – went the wrong way once. But he found salvation in this church. He's a good friend of mine."

"Pardon me father, but I did not really ask for your life story."

"Oh, my bad."

There's an awkward silence, despite the load trumping of the piano and strings of the guitar. There are whispers behind him, all appalled by his disrespect towards the priest – one of them, he could make out as a guy who claimed to be Flynn Ryder, had the audacity to say _he's a nutcase, this Jackson guy is_.

But then it all vanished when the music faded into something like a mix of that song they play at funerals, and the wedding march. And they take steps towards the aisle, Jackson holding up the cross, and another Knight with the thurnible. And when blue eyes lock with another, everything seemed to get better. And somehow he feels like he's marrying the Catholic Church for the very first time.

**trois; date**

"You dance well."

It's the first thing that comes out of his mouth, the minute Elsa takes the seat in front of him.

"Well, hello to you too, Jackson Overland."

"Call me Jack—Jack Frost."

"Why?"

"Because it fits me better now."

He gives a little laugh, ruffling his snowy hair with a puppy smile that makes Elsa's heart melt. She feels like she's kind of in love with him – maybe even half in love. All she knows is, her heart is beating at an abnormally fast rate, and everything he does leaves her breathless.

"Is that why you dyed your hair white?"

"Yeah."

"It suits you."

A waiter passes by them, sends Elsa a small wink, and a light brush against her knees. She's startled and nearly spills the coffee in front of her, and Jack sees red and green tainting his vision.

"Bastard."

"You sound a little jealous."

Her laugh is whimsical, because she knows he knows they both have mutual feelings for each other. Not once have they ever admitted it out loud but, _they know_.

"I just think it's way too cheesy a gesture to catch a girl's attention."

"Oh, you would've done it."

"I'd be smoother than that."

"Really?"

"Try me."

And so she does.

The next time they go out, she watches him. The way he flirts, how he talks—the eyes that defined a male vixen. And she adores how he makes it all seem so easy, so natural, and the subtle winking and smirking.

"Am I passing your little test?"

Her hands are on the table, nursing a warm cup of hot chocolate and cream. She laughs a little, one sophisticated tone that scratches from her throat. He thinks she's perfection, everything she stood for – and even the _God _she believed in could not stop him from falling for her.

"I think so."

"That's great."

"But, ha-hah! Now I know all your moves – which means I'm not falling for them the next time around."

"Like you can resist my charm."

"Of course I can. I've been doing it for three months now. It took you awhile to take me out, you know."

"It's not like I did much. The first time we went out, I just accidentally met you by the gates and told you to grab your coat because we're heading somewhere."

"Please. Like it really was _accidentally_. And of course you knew I'd follow after you because I'm too nice to just leave you hanging, and I do have one annoying conscience."

"Fair play."

Their eyes laugh, sparkling, twinkling under the yellow light of that café. They share looks of flirtation and adoration through their blinking irises, and under the table their knees touch. There's still scars and bruises that hasn't healed yet for him, but he's getting there. And she may be the plaster he needed to mend those broken dreams the city no longer promised him.

"You're beautiful."

She tells him in a whisper, her blue eyes stuck staring into his soul.

"I think you should know that."

There's something soft in the way she speaks, and how she says it. He feels like melted butter and her voice is like a tonic of freshly cut grass that sends sparks of life back into his body. He feels more alive now than he ever has before.

"You're beautiful too."

Taking her hand that lay before him, he gently presses his lips into the cream white of her skin, her nails chipped and painted blue – the very color of this relationship. And when he feels his lips touch her skin, it burns. And he feels tingles in his nerves that shoots through his entire body, and it's a pleasure he's never felt himself entitled to, _before_.

"Thank you."

It's strange because she's not insecure. God had said, to love herself—_and that's what she does_. She's not big-headed, nor taking any flattery into account. But she hears the words and she thanks him, because she believes him. Because spoken by his tongue, coming from his mouth, she knows it's true—_it's genuine_. And she knows that's really how he sees her, and no lies he's told before can destroy the truth that she sees in him, right now.

**quatre; boundaries**

_Boundaries_ was not something Rapunzel Iverness seemed to have when it came to Jackson Overland – or _Jack Frost_. The girl just won't quit. And to Elsa, it is one of the most thoroughly amusing things in the world.

"Um, Jack?"

It's her third call of the day, a shrill in her voice that Jack is beginning to see a pattern to. He grunts, and puts down the large vase of assorted flowers down on the ground, giving her a snare that she _can't take the hint_ from.

"Yes?"

"Will you please help me with these potted plants?"

She speaks in a sing song voice, skipping along the marble steps of the church green house with her purple pumps and long blonde hair. To just about everyone that served Saint John Bosco's church, she was the image of perfection and absolute adorableness. To Jack, she's just plain annoying.

"I'm busy."

Another grunt goes, before he turns back to the vase, and carries it to the other side of the green house – somewhere far, _far_away from the Iverness girl.

"She's not that bad, you know."

Elsa hums beside him, taking the flowers from his vase, and holding them up against the glassy ray of sun.

"She sees everything through a rose colored glass. So no matter how much you shut her down, she'll always come back up—because she thinks she has a chance."

"Well she doesn't."

"You're so cold."

"Not called Jack Frost for nothing."

He smirks daintily at her. It's so graceful compared to that normally rough grin he has on. She thinks she's breaking through his walls, and destroying all the barriers he's long put up.

"You're Jackson Overland. Not Jack Frost."

"I used to be."

The conversation ends there with Rapunzel _accidentally_ crashing into Jack, dropping three vases and spilling all the roses.

"Oh my god."

She whispers, seeing the water taint the back of Jack's grey shirt. Her brow is creased into a frown that evidently shows, _this was not part of her plan_. The nun in charge almost has a heart attack—because, _oh dear god, those roses are my babies_—and Jack stood _very_ still.

"I am so sorry."

The blonde tries to wipe the water stains, but he softly takes her wrist.

"It's okay."

His voice is soft, something strange that no one's ever heard before.

"I just—"

"It's okay."

"I'm so sorry."

"It doesn't matter."

Maybe Elsa should have seen it coming—Jack's ego is just _that_ big, after all. But she didn't. And it bewilders her more that she's actually surprised to see him take off his shirt. That really _shouldn't be_ a surprise anymore, to be quite honest.

"Oh m—my."

Rapunzel is awestruck, and all the other girls are fawning at him. Elsa, however, thanks the Lord the nun is still embracing her fainting spell because _goodness gracious _if she saw this, she'd be so scandalized, she'd be having heart palpitations – and Jack would be down on the list for a divine punishment.

"Can I—um, touch it?"

Rapunzel asks shyly, her eyes batting at him again and he shrugs in nonchalance. But Elsa could see—oh _yes_ she could—that boy's enjoying every second of this.

"Jackson, a word."

"My name's not Jacks—ouch!"

He doesn't even get to finish his sentence before Elsa takes his ear by the pinch, and is dragging him away from the crowd of lovestruck girls. He's screaming for dear life because Elsa was never one to be gentle with him before, and she certainly is _not_ right now.

"Elsa—ow—Elsa!"

"Yes?"

She's annoyingly taunting him, still dragging him by the ear, and taking him to god knows where.

"WHY ARE YOU BEING SO MEAN TO ME?"

She stops and pushes him to the wall. He's quite surprised because he never thought he'd get a _church girl_—specially Elsa—get so riled up over him.

"Are you jealous?"

"Jackson Over—"

"That's not my name!"

"—land Frost! Have you no boundaries."

"Well, apparently not."

He whistles out, scratching the back of his neck as if to look innocent. Which, he really isn't. This agitates Elsa even more and oh how she wants nothing more than to smack that silly grin off his face. But she doesn't do that – she's a good girl and she needs to keep herself composed.

"I know you're all for going against everything God stands for, and you want to be some sort of sex symbol or something—"

"HEY! I _do not_ want to be a sex symbol!"

"However, could you please, just lay off with this bad boy antics and showing off your goods on the grounds of the Lord."

"Elsa, we live in a _convent_. I think wherever I go take off my clothes, it's still going to be on _the grounds of the Lord_."

"Whatever."

He gets it. _She's jealous_. But they both know there is no relationship between them – despite the tugging of their feelings, and those electric touches that occur once in a while.

"I'm sorry."

It's a soft whisper by her lips, and he can barely hear her. But the sincerity is _there_. And he knows she's not sorry because _she's not supposed to be jealous—they're not going out_. He knows her too well to see past those human feelings and walls of ordinary people. She's regretful to have committed one of the _seven deadly sins_, but she'd rather be in hell than deny what she and Jack feel for each other.

"That escalated way too quickly."

"I know."

"We weren't really fighting anyway."

"I'm not apologizing to that."

"When do you ever apologize to me, anyway?"

"Now."

"What?"

"I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"For this."

Words are left hanging, and desire rules over judgment as Elsa's lips touch Jack's. And he tastes so much like nicotine, she could choke on his very breath. But she felt no regrets whatsoever and she thinks—_this is where God wants me to be_.

**cinq; secrets**

"How can you be all into Jesus and still smoke weed?"

He catches her one cold night up at the convent rooftop, rolling up papers, and a lighter in hand. She laughs as if she's high, but there's that look in her that says, _this world is so damn wrong about everything_.

"How can you be an atheist and still fall in love with a church girl?"

"That's different."

She's never taken a drink, never smoked one stick of cigarette. But she shares one roll with him, and takes in with a deep breath the strong, _addictive_ taste of marijuana that flavors her tongue and dusts her eyes.

"Contrary to popular beliefs, cannabis is a spice. It's very healthy as an ingredient."

"And who told you this?"

"No one. I watched it somewhere, on a cooking show."

"That's your solidification?"

"What more do I need?"

He pulls her by the wrist, and takes the roll between her fingers.

"Weed is God's gift—he'd never create something so beautiful without a purpose."

"Oh really?"

"You'd need to smoke about a thousand of these before you overdose yourself."

"Got that from the internet too?"

"Yeah."

He laughs because he finds her charming. Even with the breath of the drug, and stained fingers, she's still the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. And her flaw only made her more human to him – and somehow, he found her less intimidating.

"I think weed's great. It takes you away from earth for a while and sends you to a galaxy so far away, you forget for moment you've ever had problems."

"You're crazy."

"Maybe you're rubbing off on me."

"Does the father know?"

"No."

It's silent after that and the rest of the night is spent under the stars with the smoke and the mist, and sharing secrets. She talks of her mother, her father, her sister—all the pressure they put down on her to be _perfect_ because that's what the world wanted – a perfect girl. And then he speaks of fun times with old friends that involved three-day road trips to Vegas and kissing girls whose make-up could choke him.

They shared earphones, listening to Jake Bugg and Walk the Moon, and think five years ahead into the future. Because the weed's got them all high and they're making promises they don't intend to keep but she's laughing breathy laughs and he grins like summertime, and they forget everything else in the world existed.

"Do you ever see yourself…believing in God again?"

"Maybe."

"Why'd you stop?"

"I just questioned his existence. That's all there is to it. Nothing more, nothing less."

"Everyone's got a story."

"I don't."

"Sometimes I doubt him."

"You do?"

"I don't think the world can function without a God."

He kisses her in less than a heartbeat. And he shoves all his frustrations down her throat and licks off the taste of weed that lingers in her breath. They sweat because the night is hot and sticky, and they're so close to each other, they can barely breathe.

In the eight months they've known each other, they've never met anyone who broke through all their rules and morals, and destroyed their beliefs. Because she'd never admit it, but a part of her barely believes in God anymore. And to him, he feels like it's almost time for one last chance with God.

"You know, I've never met someone who's actually stayed."

She whispers in between butterfly kisses on her neck.

"I have."

"Really?"

"Yeah, you."

* * *

**A/N: **So, the fanfiction _may _be all over the place with the way I presented the events and the interaction—I'm sorry about that. I really did not want to use too many line breaks so I tried so hard to pace and prolong the events, and contrast the conversation from one scene to another. Does that make sense? Pretty sure the entire time I wrote about Rapunzel, I imagined her with those bangs that have been floating around on Tumblr and Twitter and any social media sites—you get me? Um, I was trying to progress Jack throughout the fanfiction, start him off as brooding, hateful and mysterious, and then he later opens up and becomes mischievous and stuff. Idk how successful I was with that. The weed bit is a reference to a quote from Weeds :) There's a sixth part I was too lazy to finish, and then I should've stopped at four but I wanted to write more but then it ended up being sloppy. I'm so sorry :( Anyway, I may post a bonus chapter containing the sixth part. It's fairly long. It depends on the feedback I get for this :)


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